


embodied, emblazoned

by sadbutchhours



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Cancer, Coming Out, F/F, Gender Issues, Genderqueer Character, gwendolyn: gender is not an absolute truth but a performance, mildred: ok honey, oh well, period-typical understandings of gender, the f/f tag defeats the point of the fic but there's no nb tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29966895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadbutchhours/pseuds/sadbutchhours
Summary: Gwendolyn ponders the idea of a double mastectomy.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 20
Kudos: 46





	embodied, emblazoned

**Author's Note:**

> pangaea: how many of my own issues can i project onto gwendolyn before she collapses under the weight of them

By the time they get home from the doctor’s appointment, it’s late. Gwendolyn falls into the bed without so much as changing out of her clothes -- though she’d purposefully worn comfortable clothing and hadn’t put her brassiere back on after the examination, so Mildred resists the urge to herd her into the bathroom for now. She’s exhausted, too, after all.

They both are. It feels like the whole world is, really -- everything grey and dark and silent these days. Mildred lets herself tip over into Gwendolyn’s waiting arms. They are a warm, wonderful pile of flesh and bones and exhaustion.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course.”

Gwendolyn moves her head, turns it to the side to look Mildred in the eye. “How did I get so lucky to have you?” 

Mildred’s face goes red in a matter of seconds.

“Hm?” 

She swats at Gwendolyn dismissively.

Each time Gwendolyn breathes in, her breasts press into Mildred’s chest. It can’t be comfortable, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Mildred closes her eyes and hopes that she won’t feel the lump. She doesn’t want to feel it, doesn’t want that tangible evidence of Gwendolyn’s own body destroying her.

“What did you think about what Dr. Michael said?”

“About the surgery?”

She nods into Gwendolyn’s neck.

Gwendolyn exhales through her nose, slowly. It’s quiet enough that Mildred can hear it, like a wave crashing in slow motion.

“If that is what needs to happen, I’ll let it happen.”

“You aren’t afraid?”

“No. Of what? What would I be afraid of?”

Mildred is afraid. She is afraid of everything -- of Gwendolyn dying during a surgery, of Gwendolyn dying because she didn’t get a surgery, of Gwendolyn dying because of some other horrible circumstance (that is, statistically speaking, extremely likely to have been caused by Mildred), of waking up one morning and finding Gwendolyn gone, finding herself alone again.

“I don’t know,” she says finally. “Wouldn’t you miss your…”

“Wouldn’t I miss my tits?”

Mildred laughs. Gwendolyn’s always been so good at just _saying_ things like that. “Yes. I suppose that’s -- yes, that’s what I mean.”

“I don’t think I would,” Gwendolyn admits. “What are they good for, anyway?”

“I quite like them,” Mildred says, before realizing the vulgarity of the words that have come out of her mouth. She freezes.

Gwendolyn guffaws, the air pushing out of her lungs and tensing the muscles of her chest momentarily. “Thank you, darling,” she murmurs. “That’s very kind of you.”

“You wouldn’t mind getting rid of them, though?”

Gwendolyn breathes in and out again, reaches up to tangle a hand in Mildred’s hair and scratch her scalp lightly. Mildred instinctually closes her eyes at the feeling and leans up into her hand. It’s incredible, the reactions Gwendolyn can pull from her with just these simple touches.

“Can I tell you something?”

Midred opens her eyes and looks up to examine Gwendolyn’s face. Her eyes are watery blue, as if she’s about to cry. And maybe she is? Mildred’s not entirely sure.

“Of course,” she says.

Gwendolyn takes a moment to collect all the words swirling around inside her -- there are so _many,_ all the time -- and then says:

“I have been… thinking, lately, about what kind of a woman I am.”

Mildred turns to rest her chin on Gwendolyn’s chest, listening.

“I’m not. You know. A… typical woman, I suppose. I’ve always been different.”

“Well -- so have I,” says Mildred. “We’re not exactly the perfect nuclear family.”

“No,” she laughs, “you’re right. But I think it’s more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

Gwendolyn’s eyes sweep over Mildred’s face before she turns to stare at the ceiling. “Mildred, how would you define a woman?”

The question catches her off guard, a feeling she despises, so she takes a short breath and stammers out, “Isn’t it just -- you know -- biology? Sex characteristics?”

“I think it’s more than that. Otherwise people like us wouldn’t have such a difficult time in life.”

“I’m not following.”

Gwendolyn nods. “I’ve made it more complicated than it needs to be. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“No, Mildred, darling. You don’t have to apologize so much.”

Mildred opens her mouth to respond, then closes it.

“Think of it this way,” Gwendolyn begins. “Say the two characteristics of… _womanhood_ are the one you’ve just mentioned -- biology -- and then the... social aspect. Dressing a certain way, looking a certain way. Most women look like -- well, like _women._ ”

“But some don’t,” says Mildred, thinking of the scene she’d encountered when Gwendolyn had first brought her to the lesbian bar in Big Sur. Some of the women there had been unlike any other woman Mildred had met: hair cropped shockingly short; bare, muscled arms and men’s clothing; and above all a masculine energy that poured out of them.

“No, some don’t,” Gwendolyn agrees. “But they have to hide, you know? We see them at our bar and then we’re not really sure what they do. You don’t just see them walking down the street.”

“Right.”

“So in a sense they’ve sort of -- given up that particular aspect of womanhood, at least in private. Otherwise one might see them on the street and think they were a man.”

“You can always tell, though.”

“How can you tell?”

“Their --” Oh. “Their bodies are shaped different.”

“Clever girl.”

She drags her hand down to wrap her arm around Mildred, pulling her close. Mildred basks in the feeling for a moment.

“You’re afraid if you get the surgery people will think you’re a man?”

Gwendolyn shakes her head. “That’s just it, Mildred. I’m not afraid of it at all.”

“No?”

“I think I might even _like_ it,” she says quietly.

Mildred breathes that in, smelling oranges and antiseptic. It’s a comforting smell, which she appreciates, because she doesn’t fully understand what Gwendolyn is getting at.

“Gwendolyn,” she says. “You know not having breasts doesn’t make you any less of a woman."

"I know."

"Or any less beautiful, for that matter.”

“I know.”

“So…”

“It’s not that I’ll be less of a woman," Gwendolyn whispers. "It’s that I don’t think I was ever much of a woman at all.”

“That’s nonsense, Gwen,” she assures. “Just because you don’t wear skirts every day -- just because you aren’t the perfect housewife --”

“It’s not _about_ those things.” Gwendolyn’s voice is a little frustrated, a little pained, and Mildred wilts under it. “Or maybe it is, a little. But it’s more about how I _feel._ ”

“You don’t feel like you’re a woman?”

There are tears in Gwendolyn’s eyes. “I feel just much woman as I do man.”

Mildred turns and squishes her cheek against Gwendolyn’s chest. 

“I don’t really know what to do with that,” she admits. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Gwendolyn replies. “I’m just telling you what’s going through my mind.”

Mildred nods. With a careful hand she reaches up to cover Gwendolyn’s left breast, the one with the tumor, palming it with her whole hand. They both watch it for a moment, watch Mildred's hand rise and fall with the movement of Gwendolyn's breathing.

“Will you still like touching me when it’s just scar tissue down there?” Gwendolyn mutters with a wry smile. But there’s uncertainty there, too, and Mildred realizes just how difficult this conversation must be for her love, the courage it takes to say things like that aloud.

“Gwendolyn.” 

Mildred’s suddenly stern tone prompts Gwendolyn to look down at her.

“I fell in love with your mind first,” says Mildred, “before any other part of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> transgwender


End file.
